


Joshua Graham is Dead

by insominia



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: The good courier has done all he can to distance himself from his legionary days, but coming face to face with the Malpais Legate brings it all back.Originally on FKM





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on FKM at http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5646.html?thread=15400718#t15400718

"Joshua Graham is dead," the courier said; his voice one he didn't recognise. The man who had introduced himself as Follows Chalk seemed wary of him now, the friendly smile he had been wearing faltered.  
  
"I'll take you to him," he repeated.  
  
"Joshua Graham is dead," the courier said again, a little more forcefully.  
  
Follows Chalk ignored the outburst and turned, "it's this way.”   
  
For a moment, the courier looked back at the way he had come. The mountains were impassable, but the prospect of trying to traverse them seemed preferable to facing whatever or whoever it was that had taken up residence with the tribals under Graham's name.  
  
Just a few moments ago, the courier had been amazed at his surroundings. Stunned by the peace of the place. Now he failed to appreciate anything of the vistas, preoccupied as he was with the tormented thoughts of Joshua Graham.  
  
Who was dead, he told himself, angrily.   
  
If he closed his eyes he could see that day. From his place as one of hundreds of faceless legionarys, he could smell the pitch. He saw the flames and was assailed by the stench of searing flesh. Someone beside him had thrown up; the sound of him emptying his stomach the only thing that anyone heard.  
Graham should have screamed. He must have been in agony, but he was silent, silent the whole way down. They lost sight of the body as it rolled into the Grand Canyon, but if they strained, they could make out a thin, black plume that marked where his body had come to rest.   
  
No one could have survived it. The fall alone would have killed them, never mind the pitch and flames. Rumours of his survival were just that. Rumours.

When Follows Chalk pointed at the cave he was to enter, the courier did so with only the slightest hesitation. Not even the sight of the man, head to toe in bandages, gave him pause. If anything it reassured him.   
  
Make the man unrecognisable, that way no one could claim he was not who he claimed to be. They could have had more than one; a whole band of men dressed in gauze, all announcing themselves as Joshua Graham. Who was to say otherwise? Who would know?  
  
He believed it to be a deception right up until the man started talking.   
  
That voice.  
  
There was no mistaking that _that_ voice.   
  
It spoke of God now, where once it had spoken of Caesar. Entreated where it would have ordered. The cave suddenly felt very oppressive. The courier felt his chest constrict, he couldn't breathe.   
  
" _Bring her here. I'll teach her manners._ "  
  
The woman's screams were as clear as though she were in the cave with them. He felt dizzy.   
  
The voice was still talking.   
  
The courier stumbled backwards and fled that place, running as though he could escape the screams that followed him regardless of distance. He was dimly aware of someone calling him back, but his feet were still moving.   
  
He didn't stop until he found himself on the very edge of a cliff, the camp far behind him in who knew what direction. The breath he took made his head swim as he gulped it down, aware that his chest was burning.   
  
Joshua Graham was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

Neither Graham nor Follows Chalk mentioned what had happened. When the courier returned over four hours later, having at least somewhat composed himself, Graham began again, as though the interlude had never occurred. For the courier's part, he had found his way back to the corpses of those he had entered the valley with. His silent but desperate prayer that somehow the cliffs that obscured his path home had suddenly, and for little reason, fallen into the river below, opening a clear road to the Mojave, had unsurprisingly gone unanswered. He searched every inch of those mountains, hoping against hope to find some way to slip through, but the effort was futile, and worse he knew it. Returning to the Dead Horses' camp he tried not to think about the man that was waiting for him there, as though it were possible not to do so.  
  
"We can help you find a way out," Graham said, offering the courier the one thing he wanted. He had already explained the fraught situation that covered the valley and added meaningfully, "but we are all busy right now."  
  
The courier avoided his eye. He couldn't bring himself to look at him, though he did not need to be looking at them to remember _those_ eyes.  
  
"Just tell me what you need," he spat, though Graham's offer was fair enough. Some pieces of pre war equipment for the maps out of here. Though it was the opportunity to deal a blow to the Legion that was most attractive to the courier. He would eradicate the White Legs himself if it meant Caesar failed to get a foothold here, but he wouldn't tell Graham that.   
  
He found himself staring at the man in bandages. He'd never been so desperate to see the Mojave.   
  
Graham was talking about walkie talkies, telling him that Follows Chalk would help. The courier struggled and failed to reconcile the man before him, wanting to help others, with the memory of Caesar's right hand. "You were the Malpais Legate," the courier blurted, interrupting something about taboo places.   
  
Graham paused, his eyes narrowed, "in time _perhaps_ there will be the opportunity for personal questions. For now I would appreciate it if you would just fetch what we need."  
  
I would appreciate?  
  
The courier's mouth fell open a little. _I would appreciate?_   
  
This was a far cry from the barked orders he remembered. The Legate had little use for manners.   
  
_You men. Yes, you three. I have a job for you. In here. Now!_  
  
Shaking the memory away, the courier stared at Graham for a long time. Graham didn't help by returning the stare; his patience had always been endless.   
  
"Fine," the courier said, resigned to the task. He turned on his heel. If it meant he could get out of Zion he would help the devil himself, though he wasn't entirely convinced that wasn't exactly what he was doing.


	3. Chapter 3

The courier rejected Chalk's offer of a bed within the camp. It was too close to the cave, he would get no rest staring at Graham's refuge, assuming he would get any rest at all. Instead he took his bed roll and found a ledge nearby, out of sight of the Dead Horses' camp; close enough to be safe, far enough to go unseen. He lay down, staring up at an unfamiliar sky, his mind reeling. 

You men. Yes, you three. I have a job for you. In here. Now!

He had gone into the Legate's tent without hesitation. Nothing ever gave him pause in those days. Why would it?   
The woman in the tent was shivering though it wasn't cold. Dried tears stained her face, and there was something else; a defiance in her eyes. The courier had seen many go into the tent with that look. It rarely survived a meeting with the Legate. He might have felt something akin to admiration for her, but the legionary he had been had no place for such feelings. Instead he ignored her and looked to Graham for his orders. 

The Legate said, simply, "she has information I need," and needed to say no more. They fell on her without thought. The three of them rained blows upon her, bruising her, splitting her lip, forcing her to the ground. But the beating was a prelude. If the Legate hadn't been able to coax the information from her, clumsy punches would accomplish little. He didn't see which of them loosed themselves first, but she started to talk. He felt the Legate's eyes upon him but he didn't join his comrades, choosing instead to let her talk, his fist raised ready, more for show than anything else. The woman caught his eye, she had told them everything, but they didn't stop. The courier looked away, straight into the eyes of Graham, who was staring right at him, his expression unreadable.

The courier closed his eyes, so tightly it caused pained tears to his eyes, but the darkness couldn't provide escape from that look. Those eyes. 

The woman sobbed, silently, her secrets exposed. The Legate nodded to the legionarys, a small look of triumph dancing on his lips. One of them grabbed the woman and dragged her out, her protests ringing out into the silent evening. The courier turned to leave with the others, but then Graham's voice called after him. "You. You stay."


	4. Chapter 4

He avoided Graham for all the good it did. It was easily done; Zion was hardly small and the courier found little reason to return to the Dead Horses camp. Follows Chalk guided him around the valley but gave him a wide berth; filling the long silences with inane observations the courier couldn't bring himself to answer. 

His days in the Legion haunted him at the best of times but now he found no escape. Images of his past confronted him everywhere. None so much as the portrait of Graham, his face angry and twisted to the point of demonic, painted onto the side of a cliff. He looked into those fiery eyes and wondered if the artist hadn't been spot on in their work. 

The other images were thankfully less literal, though no less disturbing. 

They found the compass on a crashed scout bus, surrounded by the skeletons of children. Graham had paraded his guard before the youngest of the captures. They looked up at the soldiers with a mixture of confusion and fear, and a few eyed the impressive armour with awe. They would make the finest recruits.

The lunch boxes lay around a general store. A store similar to the one that Graham had ordered some men to bring back supplies from. When they returned empty handed, Graham and a small band went instead. The owner held them off...briefly. Graham killed the man himself, slowly, using the butt of his gun in lieu of shooting him. He did nothing in haste.

When they came to the ranger station, the courier saw the teddy bears, all lined up on the mantle piece. Graham had the rangers kneeling in a line, describing in intimate detail what fate awaited them. Beside the courier one of the newer recruits had retched. The courier backhanded him in front of the rangers, earning a nod of approval from the Legate. His cheeks had flushed; praise from Caesar...well...almost.

Not even the nights offered him escape. Always in the darkness, alone, nights long gone came back to haunt him. 

He was never allowed to look him in the face. On that first night Graham had turned the courier's face to the ground and set a precedent for every encounter that followed.   
"This isn't a relationship," Graham had muttered once, after summoning the courier for the third time that week alone. Now he looked back on it and could laugh without laughing.

A relationship implied something more than getting fucked into the ground, his face always turned to the dirt. 

A relationship implied feelings - though the Legate always ground into him as though he hated him, so maybe there were feelings after all. 

A relationship implied choice.

Instead whenever the summons came he went without question, knowing what Graham could do to him if he refused, though sometimes he wondered if it was as bad as what happened when he didn't. Inside the tent, and out, the Legate treated him with the same, cold indifference he treated them all.

And yet, still he called him. Even if he never did look him in the eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Follows Chalk left the courier at the entrance to the Narrows, grateful to be rid of the man who brought a dark cloud to Zion, and could find no peace in the most peaceful of places. The courier ventured in alone, filled with trepidation at meeting Daniel; a man who could forgive Graham his atrocities was surely a monster in his own right. He was surprised to find Daniel both pleasant and grateful for the goods the courier had acquired, albeit reluctant to ask for further help. Yet the courier agreed with greater ease than he had agreed to Graham's tasks.

It was almost easy to forget he was working with Graham's blessing. Almost. Maybe in completing Daniel's tasks he could convince himself that he was having nothing to do with the Legate. He might have succeeded in putting Graham from his mind, in part at least, had he not found him in the Sorrows camp, waiting for him. He practically felt the river turn to ice around him at the sight of the Legate jogging to catch up to him. Graham greeted him with some words from scripture, but the courier's head was spinning at finding him here, so unexpectedly, most of it washed over him.

" _Raze it, raze it even to the foundation_."

He'd heard those words before. But where? Someone had asked for orders regarding a tribal village they had finally brought to heel. Graham had given the same answer then. In a way it brought some twisted comfort to the courier, Graham hadn't changed. All Follows Chalk's praise of the man was misplaced; the Malpais Legate walked again.

Graham was still speaking, "happy shall he be that taketh and dasheth the little ones against the stones."

"Then you must be overjoyed, I seem to remember you taking and dashing a fair few little ones," the courier snapped before he could quite stop himself. He and Graham stared at each other, neither quite believing what he had said. Familiar terror gripped the courier and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable punishment.

"I was referring to the White Legs," Graham said, patiently, in a tone that was almost gentle, "I fear if we do not drive them back, if we evacuate Zion as Daniel wishes then this land shall be lost to us." There was no mistaking the desperation in his voice, but the courier made no reply. Part of him was only now coming to terms that he hadn't been lashed to a cross for his impudence. "If you speak to Daniel of this consider asking him to defend Zion, rather than abandon it." Graham made to move past him, pausing for a moment to add, "your rifle is in need of obvious repair, I can take a look for you."

The courier clutched the rifle closer and moved on, leaving the Narrows. Waking Cloud, the scout Daniel had paired him with, exclaimed her surprise as he made his way onward. "Should you not rest?" she asked, kindly. The courier regarded her with exhausted eyes and continued on. He would find no rest there tonight.

The rifle jammed the next time he tried to use it, if Waking Cloud hadn't been so quick on her feet he would have been a feast for the Yao Gaoi that night. He felt a pang of regret, he liked that rifle, but he threw it aside regardless.


	6. Chapter 6

Whatever darkness Follows Chalk had shied away from in the courier, Waking Cloud spied the same. She spoke gently to him, suggested he might find peace in the valley and tried to rouse his spirits with cheerful talk of her family.   
  
But nothing helped.   
  
If anything her gratitude whenever they took out the White Leg stragglers around the valley made him feel worse. They came upon a large group of them laying bear traps along the only bridge out of Zion, and they clearly weren't hoping to catch Yao Gaoi. As the last of them exploded into waves of blood, sinew and viscera, the courier, no stranger to death, ran to the river and threw up until nothing remained in his gut to void and he was left, dry heaving on the bank.   
  
Waking Cloud offered him herb after herb but he refused them all. Nothing would help.   
  
After all these years, all the good he had tried to do to atone, he was right back where he started; killing tribals because Joshua Graham had commanded it.


	7. Chapter 7

Daniel visibly slumped when the courier told him of his intentions to fight the White Legs. They argued the point but the courier remained resolute. He hated to admit it, but Graham was right; the White Legs would never stop. If they didn't make a stand, they would overrun the valley and the Sorrows would never again return to their home. Waking Cloud had been kind to him, Follows Chalk had reached out to him, even though the courier repaid their concern with silence, they deserved a safe place to live. They shouldn't be run out of their homes because Caesar held a grudge.   
  
Graham was waiting for the courier beyond the Narrows, but the courier wouldn't meet his eye. Instead he focused on his pistol and ignored all of Graham's talk of God's work. If what he had done in the valley so far was God's work, it was a God he wanted no part of.   
  
Time had not slowed Graham's reflexes nor dulled his abilities. The river ran red with blood and the White Legs were all but washed away by Graham's anger. The courier kept his head down, his eyes open and surprised himself by landing every shot even though his hands wouldn't stop shaking.


	8. Chapter 8

When Graham left him to find a means around the White Legs blockages, the courier didn't protest. In fact, he found himself grateful for the respite. Graham was a competent companion, more than capable of holding his own against the White Legs, but there was something unnerving about the way in which Graham revelled in the killing. He claimed he didn't enjoy it, called it a chore, but the way he cursed them as they died suggested that this wasn't entirely the truth. When he left the courier, the latter breathed deeply for the first time, allowing the clean air to purify his lungs, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. There was something distasteful about this whole affair. He ventured onwards, alone, clinging firmly to the blow that he was dealing to the Legion and the good it would do the Sorrows.  
  
Emerging from the caverns, the courier found the Three Marys quiet, devoid of White Legs. The Dead Horses held their positions triumphantly while the Sorrows exchanged uncertain looks. The silence was deafening. The path to Salt-Upon-Wounds was littered with bodies bearing marks of a run in with Graham. The courier all but sprinted onwards, while the Sorrows looked on. Daniels' words rand in his head, _"are you going to teach them to live with themselves after they've killed someone?"_  
  
He found Graham. The remaining White Legs on their knees before him, in a scene all too familiar. Graham had a .45 bullet for each of them, killing all but their leader who cried out to the courier for help.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?!" the courier shouted, "you've won, they pose no threat to you now, you can stop!"   
  
"I can never stop," Graham muttered. "Never. Not until they're all gone."  
  
The courier stared at him and surprised them both by laughing. A strange and unwelcome sound given the corpses that surrounded them. "You haven't changed! All this talk of God and helping everyone but you're just the same! Everything I've done here I've told myself was for the Sorrows, the Dead Horses, innocent people being pestered by the Legion. But it's all bullshit! I might as well dust off the old throwing spears because I'm still a goddamned legionary and you're still the goddamned Legate!"  
  
Graham's eyes narrowed, Salt-Upon-Wounds remained very still, afraid to move and draw attention to himself, lest someone shoot him. "That....that was a long time ago," Graham said eventually, but his voice cracked with uncertainty.  
  
"Prove it!" the courier snapped, "let him go. Let the Legion deal with him and his failure. The valley is full of Sorrows and Dead Horses looking to you for guidance. Show them you can deal with your enemies mercifully. Or kill him. Show them that mercy has no place in a Legate."   
  
The minutes stretched out. Minutes in which the courier wondered what he would do if Graham fired. Minutes where the courier's challenge hung in the air. When Graham lowered his gun and with a sigh said, "go on. Get out of here. Go back to your Great Salt Lake," the courier let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.   
  
Salt-Upon-Wounds ran for his life, the Sorrows watching him go but not yet understanding. "Thank you," Graham said, surprising the courier. "Thank you for staying with me. I couldn't have done this on my own." He patted the courier's arm as he passed and the courier found that for the first time, he wasn't repelled.


	9. Chapter 9

The valley was quieter with the White Legs gone. Daniel had remained with the rest of the Sorrows and did not greet them as returning heroes, though his expression softened when the Sorrows told him that Graham had spared Salt-Upon-Wounds. Later he mouthed a thank you to the courier.  
  
The courier was exhausted, but dawn found him working tirelessly to tend the wounded. Occasionally he crossed paths with Graham doing the same, but he had no time to consider it. There was much work to be done.  
  
Some time in the afternoon when the sun beat down, tempered by a light falling of rain, he saw Graham leading prayers beside a pyre for the White Legs. The courier paused on his way past, unable to recall a time the Legate had done such a thing for his own fallen legionaries, let alone his enemies. But he had little time to dwell on it, occupied with his own tasks until he dragged himself towards the Sorrows camp, after the sun had long started its trek across the sky.  
  
He unclipped his armour and washed himself in the river, stripping away layers of blood, grime and dirt. He eventually collapsed on the nearest mat, the closest thing to a bed in the Narrows, exhaustion overcoming the need for comfort. He was asleep in moments and for the first time since his arrival he dreamed of clear skies and lush vistas. His rest devoid of the Legate's torments.


	10. Chapter 10

It was dark when the courier awoke, bleary eyed but rested. Internally he scolded himself; it would take weeks to recover his body clock. He noticed the smell first, the glorious, unmistakeable smell of fresh steak, before he looked over to see Graham cooking it.  
  
"I imagine a decent meal is the least of what I owe you." The courier regarded him, cautiously. But Graham's eyes were firmly on the fireplace, his bright eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I have been watching you since your arrival here. I have spoken to Follows Chalk and Waking Cloud and I know how being here has affected you," he paused, "you weren't just any legionary were you?"  
  
The courier held Graham's look, the first time he had been able to do so since he arrived in Zion, "no. I was one of yours."   
  
"As I suspected," he said, quietly, returning his gaze to the fire, "your reaction when Follows Chalk brought you to me suggested as much."   
  
There was a silence for a moment, but it was not the awkward stretch the courier had come to expect. "When I came here all I heard was praise for you..."  
  
Graham waved away his words, "I know that it would be difficult to reconcile who I am today with your past experiences."   
  
"My very _personal_ past experiences," the courier said. The meaningful emphasis he deliberately placed was not lost on Graham, who looked at him again, his expression unreadable.   
  
Eventually he spoke, "I did many things I am not proud of, things that would drive me to madness were I to think on them. But I can take solace knowing that I am not that man anymore, and thanks to your intervention yesterday, I never will be."  
  
He slipped the steak onto a plate, garnishing it with pinyon nuts and vegetables so fresh, the courier could forget what radiation tasted like just by looking at them. Yet he hesitated in taking the plate, "I don't know if I think you could ever change. Not after everything you've done."   
  
Graham regarded him for a moment, "no doubt there are many who would say the same of you. Yet here we are."


	11. Chapter 11

Consulting Daniel's maps once more, the courier's eyes returned to the rock face. He sighed and rolled the map up; there was going to be a lot of climbing involved. He was about to set off, his hand actually rising to the cliff when he heard footsteps behind him. When he turned and found himself facing Graham, he noted that while he might feel uneasy, he no longer felt the need to flee.  
  
"Daniel said you were leaving," Graham said, as he approached.   
  
"Didn't think I needed to say goodbye," the courier replied, flippantly. Part of him thrilled to get away with the disrespect he never could have mustered in the Legion.  
  
"Of course not," Graham conceded, "I merely wished to give you a gift. Zion will always welcome you, but I think this will be the last we see of each other."   
  
The courier made no reply. He had no intention of returning to Zion, despite whatever peace he had made with his past in coming here.   
  
"I want you to take this. To aid you in your fight against the Legion." Graham held out to him his own .45 pistol, the Greek inscription sparkling in the sunlight. "And the light shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not," he added.   
  
The courier slipped it onto his belt, it hung there as though it belonged, Graham looked as though he were smiling with approval, or he might have been if the courier could have seen his lips. They stared at each other for a little while longer, Graham looked as though he might say more, but eventually turned away with a simple, "God be with you."   
  
The courier turned back and started up the cliff, pausing after a moment to call out, "And with you." Graham hesitated, the only indication that he had heard him, and then continued on his way, leaving the courier to his climb.  
  
It took a few days for the courier to find his way back to the Lucky 38, his friends still milling around the place as though he had never been away.   
  
"That's a nice gun, boss," Raul said one evening as the courier meticulously cleaned the gifted pistol, "where'd you get it?"  
  
"Joshua Graham," the courier replied, as though it were nothing. Across the table he could practically hear Arcade's eyebrow raise.   
  
"Joshua Graham is dead," the doctor said, and would have launched into a short speech on the impossibility of surviving the fall into the Grand Canyon, let alone on fire, had the courier not looked up at him thoughtfully and said, "no...the Malpais Legate is dead. Joshua Graham is alive."


End file.
